Can You Save Me
by MistressGreyback
Summary: Scarecrow has met his match. Death herself. She's befriended him, lured him in and now she's moving in for the kill. Mother is on a mission of vengeance, Ralph was killed in front of her - and Calderon is back. What Scarecrow doesn't know is that Calderon isn't in DC for him, he's got his eyes on a bigger prize: the President himself.
1. Walking Tall

**D/C**: I don't own Scarecrow, or any of its productions, characters, or even minor characters. I do own any OC's that appear! This is set 6 months after AoT. I am not trying to be Matthew Reilly, nor will I ever be. This is just my attempt. It'll probably be butchered, but hey - it's Fanfiction for a reason, not a real novel. This is basically Scarecrow meeting his dark twin essentially.

**Walking Tall**

"You do not understand."  
"So tell me. Talk to me."  
"What, this is a therapy session now?"  
"Anastasiya, please. You are human, no one can take that away from you."  
"I am not human, I will never be human."  
"The fuck you ain't!"

Sergeant Gena 'Mother' Newman sat on the couch, leaning back with a can of beer in one hand and Ralph in the other. Usually she didn't display such emotion, but hey - this wasn't Quantico. Besides, she'd missed him - her Ralphie. Not even Baba, her mirror, could lure her away from Ralph. Ralph was the man she'd married, they'd had good times together - he was the man she counted on when she got home. The one she knew would be there when she walked in the door. He wouldn't abandon her.  
Mother watched the small female opposite her shifting in her seat. There was a hideous scar down the female's face, an acid burn - tracing the edge of her right eye, going down her cheek. It looked like a bird's wing, three branches of the scar stretching to the corner of her lip. Mother hadn't planned on Anastasiya turning up on her doorstep, hell, she hadn't even planned on being home. Her posting had been cancelled for reasons unknown, no doubt Scarecrow had had something to do with it.  
Ralph stood to hand Anastasiya the towel. There was a chunk of bone missing from her shoulder, and flesh. The bleeding had slowed, but it was still coming. The girl would need a doctor, and probably plastic surgery or something. He'd never heard Gena talk about the girl, but if Gena knew her - it was good enough for him.

"You'll be alright once you get to Bethesda," Ralph murmured.  
"I do not plan to go to the hospital. I merely came here to tell you he's back," Anastasiya looked at Mother. "He's recruiting again."  
"Recruiting?"

SPRAK.

Mother's eyes went wide, the bullet smashed its way through her Ralphie's skull - his corpse falling backwards. Anastasiya was up and out of the house in a split second. The Desert Eagle Mark XIX .50 AE in hand, the gun weighed 70 ounces - rubber on the grip, interchangeable barrels. Mother had seen the damage that gun could do . . . and she'd just seen it again. She'd frozen, as the gun had come out - the gun being fired. It had happened so fast, this was her home - their home. People were meant to be safe in their own fucking home.  
"Ralphie . . ."

"Is it done?"  
"It's done."  
"He received the message?"  
"If he doesn't understand it, she will."  
Marius gave a nod, watching as the fake wound was removed. He glanced at the female to his left as the car sped down the street, towards Washington DC. The pieces were moving, and he was ten moves ahead - a new identity and a new home. He reached his arm out, wrapped it around Anastasiya. Pulled her close. He smiled at her, his girl was growing up. With some influence, she'd be assigned to Scarecrow's unit and Mother would be reassigned elsewhere. The only problem was the President, if someone noticed and contacted him then they would have to go underground again. He was so proud of his baby, she'd done as ordered without hesitation. All that running track in high school had been for a good reason, and the firearms training when she was young. They weren't biologically related, rather she'd been the byproduct of a CIA project. He'd raised her and trained her, taught her his tradecraft. How to break a man psychologically, and she'd taught him that no matter how many rules you laid down for a teenager - eventually they'd be broken.  
She stared out the window, cars flew past as they sped into DC; going around Dupont Circle then south-west along Connecticut Avenue towards H Street NW. Straight to the Hay Adams hotel. Anastasiya Smert, without the acid scars and wounds, stepped out of the car. She wore a black suit jacket, white shirt, black tie and black pants - a quick change of clothes in the car. The brown wig was off, revealing raven black hair tied back. Anastasiya glanced over her shoulder at the car, watching as it sped off. She was ready, but what if it all went pear-shaped? What if Newman had gotten to Schofield first? No, she couldn't worry about it. She was safe now, there was little chance of her encountering anyone remotely linked to Scarecrow.  
"Just keep walking," she told herself. "Follow orders and keep your head down."  
"And what would those orders be?" a familiar voice. "Follow me around town?"  
Anastasiya froze in mid-stride. She turned, staring at the man in full Dress Blue A uniform. She smiled, what the hell was he doing here? She chuckled, walked towards him - let her arms wrap around him. "Hi handsome. What are you doing here?" Shane fucking Schofield was standing right in front of her. Black hair cut short, that sexy look on his face - was there a slight bounce in his step?  
"SecNav asked me to meet the French President with him."  
"Oo-la-la," she said; her Russian accent had faded over the years, allowing her to blend in more. "Shane and Veronique sitting in a tree," she teased. "F-u-c-"  
"Enough," he rolled his eyes. "What are you doing in DC? Didn't think you were the type to hang around a place for more than a month."  
"My father is in town, I wanted to spend some time with him so we went down to the range."  
"Good having him back?"  
Shane watched her, there was something about her . . . She was on edge, alert. Her eyes darting back and forth, looking around. So the mysterious father was in town, the retired Russian Colonel General. Dmitri Alatyrtsev. Well, this was a family reunion he was looking forward to. Maybe he'd find them together, find out all her secrets - and maybe he was just a typical abusive father. The signs were there, not to mention her personality. She wasn't damaged per se, but there was an underlying current of pure hatred for anyone in a uniform.  
Anastasiya shrugged, "As good as can be."  
"I know a woman - she's good. She can help."  
"I do not need help."  
"Her name is Brooke Ulacco, she's got top clearance. She even deals with . . . well, the higher-ups."  
"Can she be trusted?"  
"I trust her."  
"Fine."


	2. I'm A Survivor

**D/C**: I don't own Scarecrow, or any of its productions, characters, or even minor characters. I do own any OC's that appear!

**I'm A Survivor**

He sat on one of the couches, Brooke would be there in ten minutes. Usually she met clients in her basement - but luckily she made exceptions. Shane watched Kat shift uncomfortably, something was wrong but she wouldn't tell him what. Maybe Brooke could get through to her. Maybe . . . he could. She was like him, after Libby had been killed. Cutting herself off, trying to make sense of the whole thing. He reached across for her hand, she flinched and recoiled - arms going around herself. She'd never done that before, not in the six months he'd known her. She worked for the Government, part of DARPA; she had been the one to debrief him after the Army of Thieves incident. Now he was the one debriefing her, the one searching for answers.  
_Braaak._  
A burst of gunfire, Anastasiya shot up off the chair. The A surrounded by a circle was branded into her wrist. Usually she kept it covered, but she'd forgotten to button her sleeves. The earwig in her ear crackled to life, a male voice. She'd tuned everything out, the words going unheard. She was running on instinct, watching as bodies and bullets met, making them dance like marionettes. Her training was kicking in. She pressed herself to the floor, watched as seventeen men in ski masks walked in; machetes in their left hands and AK-47's in their right hands.  
Her heartbeat was barely above eighty beats per minute, Kat glanced up - there was an air vent. If she could just get to it, she could get out. This wasn't her fight - but knowing Scarecrow, he'd make it his.  
Screw it.  
She pulled off her jacket, ditched her tie and rolled up her sleeves - buttoning them into place above her elbows. Her eyes flicked back and forth, studying the scene unravelling before her.

"Don't be stupid," Shane grabbed her wrist. There was . . . scar tissue. He could feel it under his hand. He turned her arm, staring at the burn. Goddamn it. "You're a honeypot."  
"What you - What I feel is real."  
"I don't feel a thing."  
"You don't know the whole story."  
"I got the phone call," Scarecrow snarled. "Ralph's dead. You pulled the trigger."  
She snatched his glasses from his face, revealing the two vertical scars cutting down the middle of his eyes. "You have your scars, I have mine."

Scarecrow stripped down to his shirt and pants, keeping his pistol at his hip. There was no disgust in her eyes when she saw the scars, no fear. The first time . . . He'd willingly taken them off. No, there was nothing between them. He'd fallen for a honeypot, seduced by her charm and gentle exterior. Now he knew the truth, she was a plant. Get close and kill him. But . . . She wasn't like the dead Army of Thieves. She felt emotions, powerful emotions. Or so she claimed.  
Today was her last day. The minute he found out, she was dead. Marius would have her tortured and killed. The torture she could take, but knowing she'd led Marius straight to Shane - even if those were her orders. She shifted slightly, sliding Shane's ceremonial sword under the sofa so the gold-plated hilt was within hands reach. There was no change of heart, but she . . .  
She'd signed her death warrant the minute she'd met him.  
Anastasiya grabbed Scarecrow by the collar, yanked him close. Her lips covering his, a hunger stirring deep down. Something that shouldn't have existed inside her. They'd altered her hormones, yet nature always found a way. She stared into his eyes, those two blue fiery pits of hell - looking for any sign that he felt it too.  
There was nothing.

"I always wanted to die in battle, now I can."  
"You're not dying."  
"If they don't kill me, Mother will. If she fails, Marius will."  
"He's here? In DC?"  
"Colonel General Smert was my biological father, until he was killed. The CIA took me and had Marius raise me."  
"Where is he?"  
A lie. "I'm not sure."  
"So what, you're his daughter?"

Hardly, she wanted to scream. She was just his labrat, to be used and locked away until she was needed again. Anastasiya watched as one of the men approached, gun raised.

"Déplacer!" Move!

The two stood, walking as guns were shoved in their faces. Slowly raising their hands. Anastasiya shifted on her feet slightly, glancing at Shane. He was focused on the guns in his face. She could see the guns in her face, but it made no difference. She was going to take as many of these Frogs with her. Her eyes fixed on their wrists, the way the cloth folded. Oh crap.

"This was a trap," Kat murmured. "Marius never wanted me to leave here alive."  
"You'd better pick a side; because Mother will hunt you down, and I'm not sure I won't either."

She didn't want forgiveness. She'd killed a man without hesitation. Just 'following orders' like him. But it was more than that. There was a hole inside her that needed filling, and killing filled it. The hole had been there for as long as she could remember. Feeding it with sin so she wouldn't feel the emptiness, the pain. Kat lunged, shoved the gun aside. One hand grabbing the man's hair, one on his jaw - twisting until the bones snapped. In a split second, he was dead; his head lolling to the side. She snatched the gun, raised it - flicked it to single shot.

Sprak.  
One down.  
Spraaak. Thud. Thud. Thud.  
Three more.  
She turned, watched fingers rest on triggers.  
Oh shit.

She dived forward, taking Shane with her - bullets ripping into the walls of the Hay Adams. Like a foghorn, her ears were ringing. She still had her orders to follow, even if sanity told her not to. Capture Shane, Mother - and that French bitch Veronique Champion. The two women would be executed in front of him, the same way Gant had been executed. He would be tortured psychologically until he broke, until Kat broke with him.  
"When did you recruit Frogs?" she snarled into her earwig. Something sharp in her arm, her vision started to go blurry. Eyes started to droop. "Shane, run," she groaned as her legs gave way - slamming into the floor. She was conscious, but her body - she'd lost all control. Someone dragged her across the floor, hauling her towards a side exit. She could smell . . . him.  
It wasn't Scarecrow.


End file.
